


A Broken Heart, A Box, A Bite (It's All For The Best)

by rei_c



Series: Stiles Stilinski: Vongola Sky [14]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Difficult Decisions, Gen, Heartbreak, Human Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Sky Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 20:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18080174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: The day before they're due to go back to Beacon Hills, Erica finally corners Stiles for that talk. Stiles makes a difficult decision, then gets blindsided by his uncle,thenfinds his little pack of two growing to become three.





	A Broken Heart, A Box, A Bite (It's All For The Best)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for all of your comments and support! It means so much to me!

The day before their flight back to California, Erica corners Stiles. The feeling he's had of her flames has been -- muted, for lack of a better word, ever since he harmonised with Peter. Well, not exactly at that moment, more like a day later, the morning after, when he left Peter in the suite instead of taking him along during breakfast. To be honest, Stiles has been expecting this talk for a while now, especially after Hebe joined their group, but Erica's been spending time with other clouds on the estate, avoiding Stiles even though they still sleep in the same bed every night. Of course, they don't get time to talk in private during the night anymore, now that they've been joined by Hebe, who usually sleeps between them, and Peter, who curls around Stiles' back like he doesn't trust the sky barrier Stiles puts up around the room.

So, yes, he's been expecting this. He just didn't think that Erica would slip into the dining room along with the staff clearing up after breakfast, pick up a slice of heavily buttered bread and a few pieces of soppressata and _pecorino pepato_ , and sit down across from him. Thankfully the Ninth left early, halfway through their usual hour, escorted by Coyote back to the office to take an important phone call from Tokyo. 

Peter, in his usual seat on Stiles' right, hums thoughtfully as Erica picks at the cheese, and says, "I'll leave you to it." Stiles narrows his eyes, because Peter loves being in the middle of everything, and feels his flame spark in agitation as Peter leans down to murmur in Erica's ear, "Make good decisions, little _lupa_." 

He waits for Peter to leave, waits for the staff to finish cleaning, keeps a cup of coffee and a couple _pignoli_ for himself, hands wrapped around the cup as he looks at Erica. She can't meet his eyes. With a sinking feeling, Stiles guesses at the nature of this conversation, slots his conclusion together with the way she's been acting, lets his heart ache for one brief moment before gathering himself together. He's a Vongola -- he's going to be _the_ Vongola soon enough, if he's reading Timoteo's hints correctly. He has no room for weakness, for anger, for regret. 

Erica's going to ask him to let her go and he's going to do it. 

"Why did you care?" Erica asks, after a few silent moments have passed. Stiles shakes his head, frowning because he doesn't understand the question, and Erica says, "About me and Boyd, in the -- when the Argents had us. You were so determined to get us free that you activated a flame, Stiles. A _dying will_ flame. You were ready to _die_ to set us loose. I just don't -- _why_?" 

"Because you shouldn't have been down there," Stiles says. "You shouldn't -- what the Argents were doing was wrong, and you were pack, and --" 

Erica cuts him off, looking up so quickly that Stiles hears her neck pop in the silence of the dining room. "Pack? You weren't -- we weren't pack. You were with Scott and --." 

She stops, shakes her head. Stiles feels stung at the assertion but she's not technically wrong. "Maybe it would've been better to say I was pack adjacent," he concedes. "But just because I never bared the throat to Derek doesn't mean I didn't consider myself one of you. Scott -- Scott's always been kind of an idiot. I was mostly just waiting for him to break down and admit he needed Derek's guidance -- and I do believe he would have, eventually. I know I did and I'm not even a 'wolf." 

"I hit you over the head with a piece of your own car," Erica says. "And Peter and I have talked, I know the Jeep was your mom's and that ripping it apart was like ripping apart what you have left of her, and then I used it to -- I could have killed you, Stiles. I whacked you over the head and I dumped you in the garbage and you could've died." 

Stiles shrugs one shoulder. "Yeah," he says. "I could've. But I didn't." 

Erica sinks backwards, lets her hands fall to her lap. "You didn't want me," she says softly, so softly that Stiles can only hear her thanks to his flames, the way he's started keeping them in his ears and eyes and nose, mirroring the abilities of his 'wolves. "You valued my worth to Derek more than my compatibility with you."

Stiles steels himself, lets his eyes go cold and runs his flame through his heart. He knows that what he's about to say is going to push Erica away, but -- it's better for all of them in the long run. She gets to stay with her pack, Stiles has room to bond with an active cloud, they'll go their separate ways, and -- and he doesn't want to do it, doesn't want to break her heart, he _doesn't_ , but he licks his lips and opens his mouth and lets the words come out.

"Yes," he says." You're right. I didn't want you. I never wanted you. You were convenient. You stabilised my flame long enough for me to start harmonising with active guardians, _true_ guardians. This has been a nice vacation but when we go back to Beacon Hills, I don't want you anymore. I'm done with you. You belong with your pack, not the Vongola -- and I am the Vongola, now."

His heart hasn't skipped once and that, more than anything, he thinks, is what makes Erica breathe in a gasping sob. "You don't -- Stiles, you don't mean that," she says, pleads, fucking _begs_. "You can't. We bonded, we --"

Stiles stands up from the table, shoulders straight and free of tension, eyes hard as solid ice. With the same resolve that saw him accept the activation of his flame, the death of the Argents, the assumption of his place in the famiglia, Stiles disentangles the anchor of his bond with Erica from his flame. A giant gaping hole, black and bleak, appears in his sky; Stiles shores up the ragged edges to keep the bond from re-establishing itself and bites back the pain rushing through him. 

"Break the bond, Erica," he says. "Now, tomorrow, in a week, whenever. The anchor's already gone on my end -- no doubt you felt it weaken. Break the bond and go back to your pack, where you belong."

He almost expects her to fight but she doesn't. She sinks in on herself, tears streaking her makeup down her cheeks, looks so defeated that Stiles almost gives in, almost apologises, almost falls to his knees and begs her to stay with him, to keep their bond, to join _his_ pack.

Almost.

Instead, Stiles leaves the room. Peter's waiting for him, one eyebrow raised. Neither of then say a word until they're out of Erica's hearing range, then Peter asks, "Who did you do that for?"

Stiles lets out a deep breath, his flame shrieking in agony. "All of us," he says. 

"She's going to fight you," Peter says. "She's a cloud and you're her territory, but beyond that, she loves you, Stiles. She's not going to roll over and do this just because you said a few hurtful words."

"I didn't say a few hurtful words, Peter. I gave voice to her worst fears." Peter raises an eyebrow and Stiles strokes their flame-bond, asks, "You think I know her any less than you, or Hebe, or Verde, just because she's latent? I know her down to blood and bone, Peter. I found the faultline in her very soul and then I cracked her wide open."

Peter takes that in, concedes Stiles' point with a shrugged shoulder but says, "She'll see through it. She belongs with us. She's too wild for Derek now; she's spent too much time with the Vongola and Varia to go back to Derek and be happy."

"No," Stiles says, shaking his head. "She's exactly what they need. And they're her pack. They're what she needs."

Peter stops in the middle of the hall, reels Stiles in close and presses a kiss to Stiles' forehead before tucking Stiles' face into the curve of Peter's neck. "You're too good to us," Peter murmurs, as Stiles sinks in to the scent of his guardian and beta, the comfort and reassurance Peter so readily offers. "You should be more selfish, sometimes."

Stiles laughs, a wet sound full of self-loathing. "I don't have that luxury anymore," he says. He lets Peter hold him a moment longer, then disentangles himself, takes a step back and uses his flame to wipe the evidence of his tears from his face. Stiles takes a deep breath, centres himself, then tells Peter, "Call Xanxus. Tell him to make sure there are clouds going home with us -- and tell him why. I'll -- fuck, I'll try and explain everything to Hebe."

"And Verde?" Peter asks.

"Is planning on calling once his plane arrives in San Francisco," Stiles says, checking his watch, "which should be in an hour or so. I'll let him know then. And once I finish with Hebe, I'll talk to Timoteo. He was full of cloud courting suggestions; I'll take him up on a couple."

Peter shakes his head but says, "Yes, alpha," and leaves in the direction of their suite and, Stiles assumes, his phone.

Stiles stands alone in the hallway a moment longer, gives himself this time to mourn, then tugs on his bond to Hebe and heads towards her.

//

Once Stiles has explained everything, Hebe pretty much glues herself to his side. It's clear from the expression on her face and the shock in her flames that she doesn't think Stiles made the right call, but she doesn't argue with Stiles or try to talk him out of his decision. Instead, she runs her flame through him, easing the ache of the breaking bond, and sticks close, following Stiles to the Ninth's office and then standing at his right when Stiles goes inside. When Stiles sits down across from his uncle, she puts one hand on his shoulder and sends reassurance and love through their bond. Stiles sends back a thrum of affection and approval, leans into her touch a little, before meeting his uncle's eyes for a moment and then dropping them in respect.

Timoteo gives Stiles a shadowed look, eyes flicking briefly to Hebe before settling on Stiles. "I take it you're not here to request that I cancel your flight," Timoteo says. 

"I've encouraged Erica to break her bond with me," Stiles says. His uncle's flames flicker with surprise. "She seems -- the request hit her hard," Stiles goes on, "but Peter thinks that she'll fight back once the surprise wears off." 

"Do you expect her to?" Timoteo asks. 

Stiles shrugs one shoulder. "I went for her throat. Metaphorically, but. If she has enough time to gather herself, it's a possibility. She is a cloud, after all. I wanted to ask you, though -- I've sent Peter to call Xanxus and let him know to send a few more clouds to the States than we'd planned for but you said you had some people you wanted me to consider? I'm -- I'm ready to consider them." 

Timoteo leans forward, frowns. "Are you all right, nephew?" Stiles blinks and Timoteo snorts, says, "It's not a good feeling, when a bond breaks. I'm on my third Ganauche; even though your breakage is voluntary on both sides, it's still painful. Are you really going to consider any cloud right now?" 

"To be honest," Stiles says with a wry smile, "it might be the perfect time. I'm used to having a cloud bond, after all." 

"If you're sure?" Timoteo asks. Stiles nods, and Timoteo leans back, lets out a breath. "You really are your mother's son. You're just as stubborn as she was. Of course, she was just as stubborn as me, and our mother. It runs in the blood." 

Stiles chuckles, says, "Intelligence, intuition, and pigheadedness. Sounds about right." 

Timoteo smiles -- a little smile, but there nonetheless -- then says, "You should go, get ready." Stiles shakes his head, doesn't understand, and his uncle says, "You said you had your mist contact the Varia? I'd wager your cousin will be stopping by very soon." Stiles lets out a groan; he hadn't thought of that but, yeah, Xanxus is probably already on his way over, no doubt with Lussuria and Belphegor in tow. Stiles stands but before he can make any other move, Timoteo says, "I had planned on giving you this tomorrow, but since you're here now," and holds out a ring box. The box is open and inside -- 

The heir ring. 

Stiles' heart skips a beat. "I didn't think you'd want that taken outside of Italy," he says. 

"Tsunayoshi wore it," Timoteo says. "No doubt it'll rest much easier on your finger." 

Timoteo closes the box and tosses it to Stiles, who catches it, stares at the box in his hands. "I -- I don't know what to say," Stiles admits. 

Timoteo levels a gaze on Stiles that, at the beginning of the summer, would have made Stiles bristle in challenge. Right now, it just makes Stiles feel comforted, protected. 

"Say 'thank you,' nephew, and then go get ready for the descent of the Varia on our home," Timoteo says. 

Stiles swallows, inclines his head in a bow, and grips the box tight. "Thank you, uncle," he says, barely louder than a whisper, and leaves. 

\--

Hebe has to lead Stiles back to their suite. His flame's still shrieking with the pain he's inflicted on Erica and his mind is caught in loops, all of them centred on the box cradled carefully in his hands. It's one thing to be named the presumptive heir and Decimo, one thing for Stiles and the Ninth to agree to that, but it's quite another for Stiles to actually be given the sign of it, the ring, that anyone who knows of the Vongola will be able to see, will know what it means and who that makes Stiles and how they should react. 

In all honesty, he never thought he'd wear the ring. He just assumed -- and doesn't he feel stupid now, for being so blindsided -- that Nono wouldn't offer the ring until Stiles moved to Italy permanently, either that or that Nono would never approve of him enough to give an outward sign of his blessing on Stiles as heir. Stiles figured he'd go from presumptive heir to head of the famiglia at Nono's death, bypassing the heir ring and going straight to wearing the head's ring. But the heir ring is here, in his hands, without needing to beg or battle for the right to wear it, given as a gift, for him to wear halfway around the world. 

It's also an endorsement of Stiles' guardians -- even beyond the guards and security that the famiglia and Varia are supplying him with, it means Nono trusts Peter and Hebe and Verde to protect him, to come to his aid, to represent the famiglia. 

He looks up when the door to their suite opens, Peter standing there with one eyebrow raised and his head cocked. "What's got you in such a -- what is -- is that --?" 

"Yeah," Stiles says. He waits until they're all inside and sitting pressed up to one another before opening the box. He stares, again, and this time lets a little of his flame loose to caress the edges and curves of the ring. It feels -- it feels like _family_ , like his mother's hugs and the deadly protectiveness of his uncle's flames, like the flame-impressions of everyone who ever claimed Vongola blood, like those who've lived in the estate for centuries and fought and bled and died to make the Vongola what they are. It feels like _his_ , and it's only the conversations he's had with Xanxus and Tsunayoshi that keep him from taking the ring out of the box and sliding it on his finger, where it belongs. 

Instead, he closes the box and presses it in Peter's hands. "Protect it," Stiles tells Peter. "Keep it safe until I have time to put it on." 

Peter frowns but nods, tucks the ring box in his pocket and then curls some mist flames around himself. Stiles doesn't know if they're there to protect the box, hide it, or maybe both, but he doesn't ask. He trusts Peter. 

"When will Xanxus get here?" Hebe asks. Peter asks if she knows something he doesn't and Hebe rolls her eyes, looks -- just for a moment -- like the pre-teen she really is. "Stiles said you were calling him and Nono said he'd come over once he knew what was happening." 

Peter reaches around Stiles to ruffle Hebe's hair, smiles when she shrieks and bats his hands away. Stiles grins as well; he's read horror stories about mists and suns not getting along very well, especially without a rain to referee between them, but Peter's taken Hebe under his wing and Hebe treats Peter like a mischievous older brother. The relationship between the two of them is better than Stiles could have ever dreamed and he loves watching them interact, loves the way their flames feel when reaching out to each other and finding a very receptive audience. 

"I have no doubt he'd be on his way if he could," Peter says, replying to Hebe's question. "But there were a few Varia squads cycling back in after missions and he has to run debrief on Squalo's. There were apparently some unexpected problems. He said he'd be here for breakfast, though, and that he'd ride with us to the aeroport if we wanted." 

Stiles narrows his eyes. As far as he knows, Squalo was taking out a few new recruits on a milk run: some information gathering in the Golden Triangle, a few days of basic surveillance, a little check-up on some of their contacts out there. There's nothing in that mission that should warrant Xanxus personally debriefing the squad Squalo took with him. 

Peter must catch the spike in Stiles' flame; he looks over Hebe's head and Stiles can feel their bonds -- flame and pack -- light up with curiosity and support. Stiles shakes his head, figures he'll get any information he needs from Xanxus tomorrow, and is about to tell Peter as much when the phone on the corner table rings. 

Stiles wiggles his way out from between Hebe and Peter, crosses the room and picks up the phone. 

"Direct call from Verde, Decimo," the Vongola house operator says. "Unsecured line. Will you take it?" 

"Put my lightning through before he finds a way to send his flame halfway around the world," Stiles replies. 

The operator -- someone Stiles has never met, but all phone calls going into and out of the estate go through her or her twin sister, and they sound exactly alike -- chuckles a little. "Connecting you now, Decimo."

There's a crackle in the line and then Verde's voice comes through, loud and clear and oh-so-comforting. 

"What happened and why?" Verde asks. 

"I'm letting Erica go," Stiles replies. 

Verde makes a small, thoughtful noise. "Better for you to have an active cloud than a latent," Verde says, as if he's thinking out loud. "No doubt both the Varia and the Ninth will be sending you hopefuls and now you'll have time to court in a setting you're more comfortable with. And she is a part of someone else's pack, so best to cut ties now. Yes, you made the right decision, and no doubt you carried it out as cruelly as possible -- she _is_ a cloud, after all. Thank you for not giving me cause to doubt my decision." 

Stiles snorts, says, "As if you'd ever doubt a decision once it's been made." 

"Good point," Verde admits. "Now. You're still coming tomorrow? I want to meet the banshee you promised me." 

"She'll be yours by the end of the week," Stiles says. "Our flight's scheduled to land around six tomorrow evening; will you join us for dinner or will you still be setting up your lab?" 

There's a thrum of pleasure in Stiles' bond to Verde at the question, right before Verde says, "We'll see. Travel safe, sky," and hangs up. 

Stiles hangs up, takes a moment to collect himself, let out a deep breath, and then he turns around, looks at Hebe, first, then Peter. 

"You're going to give Lydia to Verde," Peter says, "and Erica to Derek. What about the rest of your former pack?" 

"Not my concern," Stiles replies. "The Varia reports I've been getting said that Scott hasn't made overtures to Derek, so I assume he'll want to pick up where we left off, unless he figured out that I'm the one who killed Allison or he's upset with me for leaving him alone all summer. Either way, once school starts, I doubt we'll see much of him. I don't expect we'll have much contact with Derek beyond the initial territory overtures, Jackson and his family are in London, and Boyd and Isaac and I don't have anything in common outside of the pack, so the odds of running into them are slim at best. Dad's still mist-clouded, Melissa works too much to be of any concern, and Deaton -- well. We'll deal with him if we need to." 

Peter thinks that all over, eventually starts slowly nodding. Hebe -- who knows the story of Beacon Hills even if she hasn't met anyone there yet -- asks, "Your dad, he's taken care of everything with school?" 

"We're all set," Stiles says. He can sense the hint of nerves in her flames, sends her some reassurance. "We'll be close, okay? And Verde's lab is in town, and Peter will be there as well, and Xanxus was able to place a couple Varia in the staff, so. We're as protected as we can be and -- Hebe, you won't be alone. You'll never be alone. We're family and family sticks together." 

"I know," Hebe says, snuggling into Peter when Peter tugs her close, wraps an arm around her shoulders. "I've just -- living on the streets is one thing when it's my country, you know? My English isn't perfect and I've never been outside Italy, and I'm just -- it sounds stupid, right? To be nervous about this?" 

Peter rubs his chin on Hebe's hair, leaving his scent in a clear sign of possessiveness. "Not stupid," he says. "And your English is fine. Better than a lot of people your age. None of that ridiculous slang." 

Stiles crosses the room, drops to one knee in front of Hebe and takes her hands in his. "The _second_ you feel uncomfortable, you tell me. I'll do anything I can to make it better for you. If the only thing that helps is coming back to Italy," and Stiles trails off, gives Hebe a searching look. "Well," he finally says, shrugging one shoulder. "I'll have to come back eventually. If that's sooner rather than later, then that's what we'll do." 

"You're my sky," Hebe says. She lifts her chin, as an argumentative gleam enters her eyes. "I know what that means, know what it means to be bonded to a _Vongola_. You don't do things like that for me. It's my job to support and protect _you_ , not the other way around."

"So I'm a Vongola," Stiles says. "Fine. That means I get to make the rules. And if I want you as my little sister rather than a distant, dismissable bodyguard, then that's what I get. Deal with it, Hebe. We're in this together, for the rest of our lives. Support and protection goes both ways. Goes every way," he says, looking at Peter. 

Hebe bites her lips, says, "It didn't last the rest of your life with Erica." 

Stiles sighs. "It's complicated with Erica. She's -- she _was_ mine, but she's also pack to someone else. Pack trumps harmony. I might consider taking a bodyguard from one of the local packs we're in alliance negotiations with but a 'wolf's loyalty will always lie first and foremost with their alpha, and as Decimo, I can't allow that kind of security risk in my own inner circle. If Erica's alpha calls, she'll have to answer, and Derek and I are -- friends is maybe a strong word, but allies -- we're allies now. If that changes? If he asks Erica to betray me? She'll have to. She won't have a choice, not against an alpha order." He takes a deep breath, says, "Cutting Erica loose goes against everything inside of me. But I have to do it for the safety of the famiglia. And for the safety of my other bonded guardians. Keeping her -- I want to. But I would also never want to put her in a position where she feels like she's caught between me and Derek." 

"You don't have an alpha," Peter tells Hebe, gently. "Your loyalty lies with Stiles and Stiles alone. That's the difference, darling girl. Your situation and Erica's are completely different. You don't have to doubt your bond to Stiles." 

Hebe looks at Stiles, really looks, teeth worrying at her bottom lip and eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I -- can I -- be my alpha," she says. "I know there can be humans in packs. I want to be in yours." 

Stiles doesn't bother asking Hebe if she's sure. She wouldn't have asked, otherwise, and the resolve in her flames means that this is something she's considered, something she's sure of. He looks at Peter, asks, "Peter, as my left hand, do you accept Hebe into our pack?" He knows he doesn't _need_ to ask, not when he's the alpha, but he knows Peter's going to agree and he thinks Hebe could use the reassurance. 

"Hebe Cìnniri will serve the pack well," Peter says. "Bite her before anyone else can." 

Hebe grins, hearing that, and tilts her head to the left. Stiles feels his gums itch, would swear that his teeth are lengthening into fangs if he didn't know that was impossible, and his eyes flare sky-orange as he leans forward. He opens his jaw wide, presses his teeth to Hebe's skin, and, as she lifts a hand to cup the curve of Stiles' skull, he bites down. 

//

Erica doesn't come back to their suite for dinner. She's not there when the four of them normally go to bed. Peter and Hebe curl around Stiles and sleep but he lies there, staring at the ceiling, resisting the urge to track Erica down. 

She has to be the one to break the bond for good, after all -- and at three in the morning, with Peter snoring and Hebe murmuring nonsense under her breath, Erica finally does.


End file.
